


Dawn

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Character Death Fix, Happily Ever After, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Noct returns... and returns again after the Dawn.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 10
Kudos: 140
Collections: The Ignoct Indoor Gift Exchange





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [latt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latt/gifts).



> For lattdraws, who requested "a/b/o, AUs, or happily ever after."

Noct's heart skips hard in his chest when he sees them: Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis. He's been in a dreamlike state since waking from his long divine sleep, observing the darkness and the free-roaming daemons as if from a distance. But now, alighting from Talcott's truck, he's _home_ , and he can barely breathe for the weight of ten years of yearning and loneliness pressing down on him.

Fortunately, they all know him, still, and don't expect a grand kingly speech. They greet him, and he's passed from one set of hands to another until he's standing in front of Ignis and forced to accede that his blindness really is permanent, making Ignis hesitant to reach out and embarrass himself groping for him.

Noct doesn't want that, not from Ignis. He grasps him instead, trying to convey an impossibility of emotion through the palm of a shaking hand. Ignis places his hand over Noct's and they stand like that for a moment. Noct knows he'll fall apart if he pulls Ignis into his arms, but it's so hard not to.

He realizes after a moment that Ignis doesn't smell familiar. He's not trying to cover the sweet musk of an omega with cologne, like he used to. He smells like Prompto: neutral and inoffensive, like a beta.

Maybe he's not Noct's anymore. Or maybe the crystal or the gods or the ring did something to Noct, stretched the bond between them so thin it atrophied. Disappeared and Noct hadn't even realized.

Noct tells himself he's only been returned to the world for a handful of days, anyway. He's accepted his fate and relinquished his regrets. He's not so cruel that he'd wish for his bond with Ignis to be as strong as it was when they were young and overcome with passion. It'll be better for Ignis to have it as just another scar and not an open wound, and Noct resolves not to talk about it.

He says farewell to his friends in camps, and to his Crownsguard at the foot of the Citadel stairs. He sees his father one last time, their eyes meeting over the length of a spectral sword right before it plunges through Noct's heart.

He's surprised not to be alone on the other side, but he's so grateful to have everyone he loves lend him strength that he's filled with peace after banishing Ardyn. He drifts, settling onto a throne bathed in sunlight with Luna at his side. He wants to tell her something – he can't recall what – and he takes her hand as she rests her head on his shoulder, and they sleep.

He wakes cold and stiff, stone under his cheek and his arm going numb under the weight of Luna's head. The stone ceiling above is familiar – Angelgard, he thinks – but the air is warm, the patch of sky visible through the low doorway glowing rosy, burning away dark clouds. He watches the signs of dawn until he can't bear not to witness it for himself. He rouses Luna, and they walk outside to watch the sun break over the horizon, turning the ocean into liquid gold.

He's fairly sure he's alive, but he pinches his arm anyway, just to check.

"I don't understand," Luna murmurs. Her voice is rough, but Noct supposes she'd been in the hands of the gods far longer than he was. "What happened?"

Noct shrugs, and then recalls Ignis telling him that was undignified, for a king. "We got sent back?" 

Luna sighs and pushes her tangled hair away from her face. She's wearing the same dress Noct saw in the dream when he was sitting on the throne, and she looks cold. Noct fumbles with the buttons holding the cape to the shoulders of his jacket, and when it comes loose he passes it over. Luna wraps up like it's a shawl, not seeming to mind the Lucian black.

"You're older," she says after a moment. "And I?"

He squints at her. She's not much changed in his eyes, and he tells her that. She doesn't look as if she believes him.

"We're on Angelgard," he says, sensing that a change of topic is wise. "Last time I woke up here there was a boat." He pats his pocket, feeling ridiculous: he's died and done battle in the spiritual realm, and now he's on the island of the gods themselves. But his phone's still there, and when he taps the screen it still has a charge.

He sends a message, attaching a photo of himself and Luna, with the stone arch wings curling up into the sky behind them.

A flurry of replies flood in, so many that Noct has to interrupt, asking plaintively when he can get rescued.

 _Thought you'd be fishing,_ Gladio says, attaching a little picture of a fish. Noct hasn't been able to feel the hum of the armiger since waking. He tries reaching into it now anyway, but isn't surprised to not have a fishing rod materialize in his hand. Someone must have pointed this out to Gladio, because a moment later he writes, _Shit. Sorry._

 _I'm not,_ Noct says. _But I'm hungry now, thanks for that._

 _Hang tight_ , Gladio sends. _People coming._

*

Luna's fretful as they wait. She wants to know everything that happened after her death, and Noct passes on what he knows. While Noct is cut off from magic entirely, Luna is so full of it that magic spills from her and imbues the air around her. Noct collects driftwood; she sets it alight with a brush of her fingers. They have nothing to use as a cup, but Luna conjures ice crystals in the palm of her hand which they eat to stave off thirst. Noct asks her if she feels okay, his words clumsy: how do you ask someone if they're over their own murder? Even Ignis' thorough lessons in etiquette never covered that.

"I don't think I'm the Oracle anymore," Luna says. She's seated on a rock, hands outstretched to the fire. "I can sense where the world's damaged. I've been given this power to make it right again, I suppose."

Noct shakes his head. "Yeah, but – you. Not what the gods want or what the world needs. You deserve to be happy, after all that happened." He kicks at some of the stones littering the ground, wishing he was better at expressing his feelings, and then blurts out his worst fear. "Were you with your family in the Beyond? Have I dragged you away from them?"

"I never crossed over," Luna says. "As you were in Bahamet's realm, so was I a guest of the other gods." Her shoulders hunch, making her look smaller, somehow lost and resolute, the way Noct remembers her as she turned back to allow herself to be caputured by Niflheim for her brother's sake. "I want to go home," she says, her voice very low. She turns a hand over and sylleblossoms made of ice form and melt through her fingers. "I want to see my people and restore my childhood home. Selfish, I know."

Noct snorts, loud and rude enough to make Luna glance up at him in startled amusement. "You have to start somewhere," he points out. "And you deserve to be with people who love you."

"And you?" Luna asks, deflecting. "Will you return to Insomnia?"

He pictures the ruined streets, the corpse-haunted Citadel, the throne where he died. "Eventually. Maybe. Things are different." He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with cool salt-tanged air. "I don't think we need to get married, now."

He hopes Luna won't be offended, but he isn't prepared for her to laugh so hard she doubles over, waving away his concern and gasping out her apologies. When she finally stops, she has to mop away tears with the hem of his cape.

"Did you want to?" Luna asks, when she finally has her mirth under control. "Ever?"

Noct likes her, that's never been the issue, but... A stipulation of two royal alphas marrying has always been that an heir must be born. Mating between alphas can be manipulated to trigger a protalphous transformation in one of the two: often successful, but almost inevitably leading to postpartum fatalities. Noct lost his mother, Luna her father. And for all the empire had reassured King Regis that magitek medicine was highly advanced, Noct had been bitter that the gods would choose either his life or Luna's as forfeit.

"No," he admits, which makes Luna laugh again. Noct goes over and sits down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment he's distracted by the memory of sitting the throne with her by his side, but he breathes through it. "I mean. I like you."

She leans her head against his shoulder and takes his hand, slotting their fingers together. "And I you." Her thumb rubs over the back of his hand, comforting and reassuring. Ignis had the same habit, when he'd been alone with Noct and able to let down his guard, and Noct aches with regret for all that's been lost to time and prophecy and the gods' games. "You're my oldest and dearest friend, and I hope you can visit often."

"I'll write," Noct promises, and Luna laughs at him again.

*

They're picked up a couple of hours later by Iris in a boat piloted by Weskham. The ride to shore's just long enough for breakfast – sandwiches and unpleasant herbal tea from a flask. Iris has grown into a true Amicitia, taller than Noct now and with muscles and scars and part of an elaborate tattoo visible along her shoulder. She takes Luna below deck to loan her clothes, and when they come back up Luna's eyes are glowing with excitement. She's practically bouncing on her toes in her borrowed running shoes.

Her spirits dim when she sees Noct, who's been wondering if the fish here survived the apocalypse. He can guess why, and... it's not a problem.

"Looks like you got offered a ride home," he says, smiling and hoping she realizes he's happy for her.

Behind Luna – over her head – Iris rolls her eyes. "Duh."

"Everyone's going to love seeing you." Noct doesn't know if the old woman he spoke to is still alive, or the young girl who'd had serious Luna hero-worship. He hopes so. "I'll drop by as soon as I can." He points to the royal yacht ahead of them, still docked right where he'd left it. In the daylight it looks pretty shabby, but he bets Cindy or someone will be able to make it seaworthy again.

When they land, there's an awkward hour or so before Noct's ride gets there when he and Luna pepper Iris and Weskham with questions. Some topics trigger awkward silences and terse explanations: a person no longer alive, a town wiped off the map. Others are surreal, enthusiastic explanations of things alien to Noct's experience. Weskham tells Noct things about the state of fishing that he finds hard to believe, and Iris apparently has graduated from making stuffed animals to tailoring; she volunteers to rebuild Luna's wardrobe. There's a lively discussion of pockets and necklines that Noct's peaced out of when a car appears on the winding road down.

This time, Noct's driver is Wiz, apparently the first person Gladio could get hold of in the area. He says his farewells: Iris hugs him hard enough to make his ribs creak, and then he hugs Luna because it'd be weird not to. Weskham wards him off with an outstretched hand to shake and a clasp of his shoulder, and then they're back on the boat, heading to Caem and thence to Tenebrae.

Noct's learned his lesson about conversational landmines and resolves not to bring up chocobos, but to his relief Wiz broaches the topic first. Mostly good news, which is a relief. Apparently Prompto headed up an operation to clean out some of the empty Niff bases and turn them into refuges and sanctuaries.

"Why, the smell alone was enough to keep the daemons away," Wiz concludes with a chuckle.

Noct has been polite enough not to mention how much the entire car reeks, even with the windows down. He asks what's going to happen now, and Wiz goes off again, detailing plans to reintroduce chocobos to the wild. Maybe someday even have races again.

Noct's never won a race; Ignis got all the medals, which he chalked up every time to a simple matter of his chocobo's excellent nutrition. Noct never called him out for lying, but he doesn't think there's any way Ignis would have given any of the chocobos inadequate meals. He thinks the real reason was because of the way Ignis doted on his chocobo, all the petting and sweet talk, and he won't ever admit to that because it'd be the same as confessing that he'd been jealous. Of a chocobo. That Ignis got to snuggle up to without anyone batting an eye, when he was so very careful to never touch Noct inappropriately in public. Hold hands, kiss, ruffle his feathers.

Noct wanted that; he still does. The closer they get to the motel where they're meeting his Crownsguard the harder making small talk becomes. He knows Ignis probably isn't his anymore – ten years is long enough for him to smell like a stranger – but fuck it. He's going to ask anyway.

They pull up to the motel around lunchtime. The parking area is full of people who look like Noct feels: dirty, dazed by events, and hungry. The diner seems to be a hunter headquarters now, but Wiz parks at the far end of the broken pavement and brings Noct around to the back. In a fenced-in area, there are two chocobos with the most ragged feathers Noct's ever seen on a bird.

"Hunters found these two hiding from the daemons," Wiz says, grabbing a pail and filling it with scoops of feed. "I was going to bring them up to Formouth and see if – " He shrugs, and hands Noct the pail. "Here, you feed 'em, I'll see if I can't rustle up some food."

"Maybe a shower?" Noct asks, eyeing the birds. He hopes there's running water here.

Wiz nods, seriously enough that Noct starts to worry that he reeks.

Once the birds have been fed, groomed, and given all the scritches they demand, Noct eats his sandwich sitting on a wooden crate. He takes his phone out and texts to ask where everyone is.

 _We'll be there momentarily_ , Ignis replies. Then he adds, _Gladio's driving._

Prompto had driven them from Hammerhead to Insomnia. He'd mentioned offhand that Gladio had learned to drive, to which Ignis muttered darkly that Gladio had simply learned to _accelerate_. Gladio had just crossed his arms and given Noct a challenging look.

Noct realizes that he should have just called. He's not sure how Ignis manages to read a text or type a reply, or how long it took for him to learn. He wants to hear Ignis insulting Gladio's skill behind the wheel, or saying anything, really.

Five minutes or so pass, while Noct gets lost in his thoughts, watching the two chocobos poke through the desiccated weeds, looking for insects. And then his phone dings with a message from Prompto announcing their arrival.

As Noct gets to his feet, there's a squeal of tires out front that he hopes is merely coincidental. Wiz hears it as well, and takes Noct in through a back door so he can lurk by the service stairs until Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis join him, crowding through the door in an explosion of excitement. He gets hugged so hard his feet leave the ground – thanks, Gladio – and Prompto cries on his shoulder. But Noct's been haunted since he woke from death by thoughts and memories of Ignis, a constant awareness as fundamental and as unavoidable as heat or cold. And now his attention's drawn to him like a compass needle to north, distracting him and making him clumsy.

"What?" Noct says, yet again, to another question he missed because of the warmth he swears he can feel from Ingis' proprietary hand on his shoulder.

Prompto bumps him playfully. "Let's get some food in you, man, you're fading."

"Maybe he came back wrong," Gladio says: half joke, half challenge, his eyes sharp.

Noct glares back at him. "I have stuff on my mind."

"Lady Lunafreya stuff," Prompto says knowingly. Noct winces, looking to Ignis despite himself.

"You guys go eat." Noct catches Ignis' sleeve. "We have a room here, right? Specs – can I talk to you in private?"

"Certainly," Ignis says, the word smooth and sincere. His visor keeps Noct from reading his expression, but he doesn't seem – Noct hopes – put out at the idea.

Gladio hands Noct one of two keys, and Ignis follows him upstairs. Noct's old injuries have been acting up since he returned from the crystal, a persistent aching stiffness from hip to knee. Sitting so long in the car didn't help, and he has to lean hard on the handrail as he climbs. Ignis can't possibly be unaware, but he doesn't speak until Noct shuts the door behind himself.

"We keep clothes here," he says, crossing the room, obviously having set himself a task to keep occupied as he waits for Noct to say what he came here for. "I believe there should be something that you'll find more comfortable." The room's stark and uncluttered, and Noct wouldn't have known Ignis was blind if he hadn't been looking for signs. He moves without hesitancy, and his fingers barely brush against the wall and then the corner of the wardrobe, finding the door handles and pulling them open. The creak of unoiled hinges apparently offends him; he frowns, but then starts flipping briskly through the hangers.

"I could use a shower first," Noct says, coming close to stand just to Ignis' left. Close enough to touch, but he doesn't. "So could you." He doesn't think any of his Crownsguard have rested since their last camp, and definitely none of them have washed. He's used to Ignis being as fastidious as a cat, and just as prickly when dirty or wet.

He's not sure he still knows this Ignis, who glances sideways at him and then says, "My apologies."

"It was an invitation," Noct says. "Not – nevermind." He thinks he can act his age when he's in the role of king, but he's acutely and uncomfortably aware that where Ignis is concerned, he still feels like he was a teenager only a year ago. Still clumsy and wrong-footed, and now he doesn't even have the olfactory evidence that Ignis reciprocates his feelings.

But Ignis' breath catches and he tenses, fingers curling. Noct bets that if he was looking at the unscarred cheek he'd see the blotchy red of a blush. He used to love making Ignis flushed and flustered.

"Lady Lunafreya," Ignis starts, with a subtle straightening of his shoulders as he braces himself the way he used to before diving into a reprimand for one thing or another.

"Has gone back to Tenebrae, and we're definitely not getting married." Ignis' jaw tightens, like he's going to just keep arguing. "I don't know what's happened while I was gone," Noct goes on. "Obviously. Ten years, so I'll never find out everything. I want – " he gestures between them and then feels stupid "– us. But I know you don't, anymore. Getting used to it's just... going to be weird." Like his heart's been scooped out and the void left there, hollow and echoing.

Ignis might not be able to see him any more, but he still excels at staring at Noct as if he's babbling and not making a lick of sense.

"Whatever gave you get that idea? I want everything," Ignis says, voice so low he sounds like he'd murder anyone who gets in his way. He holds that intense look for a long moment, and then adds with slow regret, "But not at the expense of Lucis or Tenebrae. Not anything that would bring you disgrace or scandal. Above all I want you to be free to make your own unfettered choices."

That sounds hopeful. "I'll give you everything," Noct says. "If I can." He puts his hands on Ignis' shoulder, turning him so they're facing, and then leans up to press a kiss to his mouth. Ignis jolts, as if taken by surprise, and Noct has to tease him with peppering kisses – his cheeks, his chin, the scars on his nose and eyebrow, his jawline – before he feels Ignis surrender.

" _Noct_ ," Ignis says.

It's a pathetic protest, no defense at all, and Noct kisses him more, and grins, and pulls him away from the wardrobe and over to the nearest bed. He takes Ignis' other hand and raises it to his cheek, because he nearly died without Ignis having seen what he looked like all grown up. He wants to show him the shape of his jawline, the way his eyebrows made him look regal and resolute (he thinks), the lines from weariness and pain, all of it.

Ignis is thoroughly distracted, and Noct removes his visor and undoes his jacket and then his waistcoat before Ignis can be bothered to care.

"The door," Ignis murmurs, fingers sliding from cheekbones up to Noct's hairline, measuring the length of his hair.

"I'll go lock it if you tell me how handsome I am," Noct says. He remembers the very first time he'd dared to tease Ignis like this, and the look of shocked yearning that had quickly been hidden by a dry, sarcastic response.

But Ignis is determined to slay him with sincerity this time around, voice steady and eyes closed in concentration as he replies, "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

Noct kisses him for that. What they always were to each other was complicated by duty and birth, what was right and what felt right, but that's all changed now. Hopefully.

He tells Ignis to undress while he goes to turn the key, and he sends a quick text to Gladio for good measure before turning his phone off. He's tempted to leave a trail of discarded raiment behind him, as a sign of his urgency, but he doesn't want Ignis tripping – or worse, picking up after him like he's a child being bratty.

Ignis has only removed his jacket, waistcoat, and boots by the time Noct gets back, feeling underdressed in just his royal boxer briefs.

"I wish I could see you," Ignis says. There's a burr of frustration to the words, and Noct aches. He's never heard Ignis complain about his blindness, though he supposes he wasn't around for what had to have been some hard times, adjusting. He understands now that Ignis had tried so hard out of terror at being left behind, which was why he'd insisted on being treated as Advisor to the King and not a lover who Noct might have been tempted to leave behind where it was safe. Long years in the hands of the gods have taught Noct about being cut off from familiar faces and voices, supportive touch and meals cooked with love, the heady comforting musk of their scents filling the car or the tent.

Noct sits and pulls Ignis down beside him, bringing his hands up to his face again: if this is all he has, he can have it all. He runs his own thumb along the rough edge of the burn scar, and then trails his fingers back, scratching Ignis behind the ear like he's a brave kitten before sliding down to rub his fingers over the unmarked column of his neck. 

Ignis had said, quite firmly, they were far too young to make any kind of commitment. Noct had known at the time that he was trying to be gentle; that a prince barely out of high school had no right to selfishly impede a potential political mating just because he thought he was in love. Noct knew he was right, but he'd still hated it.

"I wish I could scent you," Noct says, caution eroded by the yearning that overwhelms his thoughts. And then, when Ignis stills under him, he recalls himself. "I can't, it's like Gladio said. I came back wrong or something. No biggie."

Ignis slides his hand down to cup Noct's cheek, his thumb seeking out the edge of the whiskers that had startled him so much. "You're very much not to blame. I am," he says, and his silver-scarred eye is wide, staring up at Noct as if he just _tried harder_ he might somehow see him. "My apologies. I forgot."

"It's fine," Noct says, but he's not sure it is. Thinking Ignis somehow exorcised their connection hurts. He leans into Ignis' palm. "This is enough."

Ignis shakes his head, as if irritated by the attempt at placation. "I knew you'd be gone quite a long time. As a tactician, the time to plan and prepare was a blessing. But I found it... increasingly difficult, shall we say, to retain focus when I was also still your omega and you were not there." He shrugs, as if the inconvenience had been slight, but his fingers shift on Noct's face as if trying to read his reaction. "Witches and herbalists came to operate quite openly in Lestallum. I have a tea I take every morning."

Noct can picture it clearly, and he _burns_ to fling himself back in time and find Ignis every time he was gritting his teeth through another heat, alone – bereft – and blind. It must have been bad, if he'd resorted to using random herbal blockers. But the plain words Ignis uses to dismiss his past suffering are a warning: he survived, and he's proud of that. He doesn't want pity. So Noct makes himself smile, and tries to tease. "Is it better than coffee?"

Ignis snorts. "Hardly."

Noct pushes Ignis back on the bed and crawls over him, getting in the way as Ignis shifts to the center of the bed. It's graceless and ridiculous, but that's how he's always been. He used to feel better than anything when he could make Ignis laugh: with his hair down and messy, head thrown back against the pillows, young and unguarded. The memory's enough to make him lean down to press his forehead against Ignis'. "Love you."

"You must have thought – " Ignis starts, self-recrimination edging his voice, but Noct cuts him off.

" _Hey_. We're having a moment." Noct puts a finger across Ignis' lips, covering the scar there. "You missed your cue."

"Of course I love you," Ignis says. His words are muffled, giving them the tone of voice that Noct's missed so much, a perfect alchemy of amusement and irritation. Not the way a servant talks to a prince or a king, and not stickily suave and fake, like the lead in a TV drama. There's no doubt in him at all, and he's... miffed, Noct thinks, to have his feelings questioned.

After all, he just spent a decade figuring out how to save Noct, whose survival didn't even matter to the gods. Noct could have died and the prophecy would have been fulfilled; the world would be as saved as it is now. He just wouldn't be around.

He's so glad he is.

"Does that tea thing mean – " and Noct's not grown-up at all when it comes to talking about them; it's always been easier to just _do_ stuff – "you can't? Don't want – "

Ignis huffs, a sign that the balance of his temper is tipping further toward irritation, and he grabs Noct by the ass and yanks him down.

He's as hard as Noct is. Noct's hips jerk in reflex. He wants to grind against him, rub off on him, come as fast as he can no matter how graceless he is; but at the same time he's sure he should try and make this reunion magical, or at least special.

"What do you want?" he asks. His voice has gotten raspy again, this time not from disuse.

Ignis has slid his hand down to curl at the back of Noct's thigh, his fingers slipping up under the edge of his shorts. "Just like this," he says. "With you above me."

"Less clothes, though." Noct forces himself to roll off to the side and shucks off his underwear. Ignis watches him, fingers brushing against Noct's arm and over his hip to follow the action. But he doesn't make any move to finish undressing himself, and Noct blurts out, before he thinks better of it, "Wait, are you still shy? It's just me, Specs."

The look he gets suggests he couldn't possibly have said anything stupider.

"You can't see me," Noct acknowledges, "but I'm still the same guy. Just missing the birthright that, let's be honest, only got in the way of us." He's struck by a thought. "Can you scent me?"

"Oh yes," Ignis breathes. Noct's scent must change in response to how sexy that sounds, because Ignis' cheeks flush. He grabs the hem of his shirt and curls up to pull it off, an effortless display of strength and grace, most certainly meant to distract Noct from noticing his vulnerability.

When he lies back down to undo his trousers and shove them over his hips, Noct can see the damage of the years carved into Ignis' skin. Mostly small scars, which makes sense if they were conserving potions, but there are three parallel lines across his stomach from some creature's claws. That was damage that could easily have killed him, and Noct imagines returning to this world only to find out that Ignis had been mauled and eaten, _while you were away..._

He knows he'd be an idiot to ask about the scars, though, so he diverts the hand that's already reaching out for them just a bit lower, to wrap around Ignis' dick.

Ignis jolts as if he's been electrified, shoulders and knees coming up off the mattress and his jaw clenching. Noct grins, and twists around to reacquaint himself. As far as he can tell, nothing here has changed aside from more hair than he's used to. He likes it, though. Ignis' pubic hair is dark, and it makes a good contrast with the flushed pale length of his dick. Noct gives in to temptation and kisses away the moisture that's gathering at the tip. Ignis tastes the way he's supposed to smell, and that sets Noct's blood on fire. The alpha in him wants his omega, and suddenly he doesn't care about his awkwardness. He just needs to make Ignis his own.

He's always been comforted by the knowledge that Ignis is fully capable of standing up to him. Even Ignis' deference to his rank was always with the understanding that the position he was trained for gave him the power to call Noct out if he was acting like an idiot. Ignis could easily push Noct off and away, but instead he tips his head back, baring his throat. With that invitation, Noct laves his tongue over the smooth patch of skin at the side, just above his shoulder, and then bites, making his mark.

Ignis cries out and writhes under him; Noct holds him down and pushes away the hand that he raises to cover his mouth. He doesn't want to lose any of the sensuality of this: the taste and smell (of sweat and sex, if not omega), the sound, the feel of Ignis' body under his and his life between his teeth. The way Ignis looks, giving himself to Noct not in surrender and submission but in victory.

Noct shifts to bite the other side to complete the circuit, and Ignis grabs his hair, holding him in place despite how he's thrashing. Noct's reminded of how he felt being pulled into the crystal, yanked out of his body and his life; this is the opposite. Every part of him is filled to overflowing, an incandescent mix of physicality and vitality. He's claiming Ignis, but it's also his proclamation of being claimed, and he wants that with the same kind of desperation as needing to come. He's out of his head with need as he gasps for breath around his clamped teeth, thrusting down clumsily, thrilled by the electric heat of his dick against Ignis'.

Ignis comes first, with a ragged cry of Noct's name and Noct holds him in his teeth through each convulsive wave of pleasure, until Ignis goes limp under him, chest heaving. Noct lets go and Ignis pulls him up by the hair for sloppy open-mouthed kisses, panting into each other's mouths. Ignis' hands are restless, sweeping down Noct's back, curling around his ass, urging him on, and he can't, can't, _can't_ tip over the edge until suddenly he can, and he's flooded with such pleasure that his body goes so light he floats, his skin tingling.

He feels at peace, with himself, with Ignis, with the world. For a moment he's aware of everything, each new blade of grass poking through the earth, every creature under the sun, and the pulse of magic through all of them. And then he drifts back to himself, and he's sated and tired. He's home, here, in Ignis' arms.

When he wakes later, much to his chagrin, Ignis laughs at him and says he's always fallen asleep after sex. What made him think that would be different now?

"I'm older," Noct says, stretching. He's not in pain anywhere, his body loose and full of the warmth he'd leached by having the foresight to pass out on top of Ignis. "Mature."

"Nevertheless, you're still _you_ ," Ignis replies. He sounds very pleased with himself. Noct supposes he's earned the right to claim some responsibility for his continued existence.

"And I'm yours now," Noct points out. Ignis hums, still smug. "We should wash up. Do you think there's any chance no one noticed...?"

"None, I'm afraid." The fingers combing through Noct's hair pause to rub his scalp, and Noct tries not to melt even further at the attention. "Does that bother you?"

Noct shrugs. With the windows and door closed, he can't hear any sounds from outside. It's a shabby room, worse for the wear of years and neglect, but he appreciates the respite of sanctuary it offers. He's not sure he'll be comfortable alone for a while; the gods and the ancestral dead make poor companions. He's hungered for friendship, the ineffable comfort of fellow humans. For love, as presumptuous as that sounds. And while it's mortifying to imagine speculation about what he and Ignis just did – or worse, to suspect that they were overheard – he wouldn't undo it for anything. He feels anchored, like he's finally home again, this time for good.

"Well, we can hardly laze around all day," Ignis says. He takes a few deep breaths, though, before commencing the process of disentangling himself from Noct and slipping out of bed.

Noct follows him, trying to be helpful about finding clean clothes to change into and moving all their laundry into a pile. Ignis wrangles the shower into producing a slow trickle of rusty lukewarm water, and they scrub each other clean. The bruises to either side of Ignis' neck aren't shocking, and Noct figures they'll be gone in a week, leaving behind just faint silver scars, delicate like lace.

Ignis keeps poking at the marks. He can probably imagine what they look like. Noct wonders how he feels, whether he has any regrets – for the haste, or the unromantic setting, or just not showering first. They'll have to discuss how Ignis wants to make his claim on Noct clear. Noct doesn't like the idea of a ring; a tattoo would be badass, except Ignis wouldn't be able to see it. Maybe, he thinks, looking at the telltale signs of irritation on Ignis' face, he should shave off his incipient beard. Both symbolic and practical.

They dress in ill-fitting but clean clothes. Ignis warns Noct it's not safe to go barefoot, too much glass from broken windows, too many nails and splinters. There's a wry note to his voice that suggests he learned the hard way. Noct pulls on his boots and tells Ignis he needs to get more socks.

Ignis nods, and Noct can imagine him adding that to his mental to-do list.

"Also, I love you," he adds. "Thanks for everything, Specs."

Ignis shakes his head. "You needn't thank me. I don't want gratitude." He looks in Noct's direction and smiles, looking young and sweet, hair tousled, carefree. "But I suppose I'd accept kisses."

"Huh," Noct says. "In that case I _suppose_ I can oblige."

And so he does.


End file.
